


Taste

by Porkchop_Sandwiches



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Drug Use, Season/Series 04, requested one-shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:24:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4567863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porkchop_Sandwiches/pseuds/Porkchop_Sandwiches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mr. White started to calm down, not crying as much anymore, the pulses against Jesse’s chest felt like an overturned carton of milk hiccupping out its insides. And Jesse held on and shut his eyes ‘cause it was sort of nice not concentrating on the usual shit show going on in his head for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Felina's_ghost](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Felina%27s_ghost).



> This was written for Felina's_ghost's request for a story where "Jesse steps up to be the strong one giving comfort to a vulnerable Walt in some time of need." This has some similarities to "Care" (more hurt/comfort), but I hope you guys don't find it too repetitive. Felina's_ghost I hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> Also, I have no idea if Jesse has a pool in his backyard, but now he does. And I am pretending Walt never put the tracking device on Jesse's car.

Jesse took a long pull from his straw, getting a whole mouthful of raspberry Slurpee. He swallowed as he wedged the drink down around the spare change/growing Taco Bell fund in his cup holder and sucked back just as aggressively on his cigarette. He was chain-smoking, working on his third in like ten minutes. And the shift in temperature on his lips from crushed ice to his warm nicotine kick was kind of weird, made him shiver like he was taking a piss outside in the cold, but he wanted the taste of that weird-ass Chilean soup out of his system as fast as fucking possible.

_“Would you perhaps care for a doggy-bag? I have plenty left.”_

He swore to god that creepy motherfucker had the eyes and smile of a fucking snake, like just slithering in the weeds, ready for Jesse to slip-up, show some like vulnerability, bum leg or whatever. And then the second Jesse said something fucking stupid like, “Yeah, man, I can totally cook Mr. White’s formula without him,” the guy would rip into that exposed injury like he was slicing into a rat. Jesse _would_ be a rat for saying he could cook without Mr. White ‘cause no matter how big of a prick the dude could be sometimes, he didn’t deserve getting offed by that psychopath.

 _Shit_ , when Jesse got the invitation for dinner, he sort of thought this was a step up on the ladder, making his way closer to the Boss, being more like Mike in a way. Instead he ended up feeling like he was some stray dog. Fring fed him, gave him a pat on the head so to speak, and then like immediately wanted him to go out and fetch. He was sending Jesse to Mexico so Jesse could cook in some bug-infested jungle and bring him back like billions of dollars, all nice and neat between Jesse’s teeth.

Lowering the driver’s side window at a red light, Jesse tapped ash off his cigarette, sparks scattering out in the dark, and he wondered if they even sold Wilmington’s in Mexico. His old brand had been Parliaments, but he hadn’t touched a single pack of those since Jane. He couldn’t do it.

The light turned green and he sipped from his Big Gulp as he pressed his foot against the gas. He was going fifteen over, radio playing a Korn song with a slow, sort of angry vibe he couldn’t remember the name of, though he was pretty sure it had come out when he was in Mr. White’s class. It was a little after ten o’ clock so hardly anybody was on the road, just a few cars in line for the McDonald’s drive-thru he passed, and for some reason the empty street reminded him of Fring’s house. It was nice, yeah, but also cold and too-clean in the same way all those museums were that Jesse barely paid attention to during middle school field trips. Spending even just two hours with Fring had actually made Jesse start to miss Mr. White.

Feeling a burb come up, the taste in his mouth was like he was smoking hookah. That stuff made him nauseous. All those different kinds of fruity tobacco shit always made his stomach hurt. And the bubbling in his gut reminded him of how sick he felt not getting the job done tonight. He was in the guy’s fucking house with exposed pots and pans gleaming up at him all smug. But, there was no way in hell he could have put the ricin in something that he wasn’t expected to eat too.

Jesse made a left turn into his neighborhood, not even slowing down at all as idle SUVs and mowed lawns and late-night dog-walkers seemed to spin out like Jesse’s opened window was looking into a whirling washing machine. Once he was on his street, Jesse saw a group of kids in hoodies a couple blocks over cruising around on skateboards. They were drifting the other way, laughing, as he got out of his car.

Jesse ambled up his yard while fumbling around for his house keys. He still hadn’t switched them over with his car key ring even though he’d owned this piece of Toyota shit for months.

The weight of the ricin in his cigarette pack felt almost like a bite around the tip of his finger. It unsettled the fucking shit out of him having poison inside one of his pockets at all times. He emptied them out the second he was in his living room, just flung his cell phone and 7-Eleven receipt and keys on the futon.

His glass coffee table showed an almost like mirror image: matching burner phone and another set of car keys.

Jesse’s stomach dropped.

He’d taken his keys out _after_ he was inside. His door had been fucking wide open. And his lights were all on.

Shaking a little, Jesse quietly shut and locked his door. His hand was still trembling as he smeared it across his face. It wasn’t like was scared of Mr. White exactly, but the dude had never mysteriously let himself in Jesse’s house. This coming right after his visit with Fring felt almost fucking spine-chilling, like Mr. White _knew_ and was waiting somewhere in the dark to come out like he was Freddy Krueger or some shit.

“Mr. White,” he shouted.

Jesse didn’t like feeling intimidated in his own fucking living room; might as well call the guy out of the shadows already.

Nobody answered so Jesse followed the path of light switches that had been flicked on. The short hall that extended from the living room was empty. His kitchen was too and some of his cabinets and drawers had been left open. Something looked off in the corner of his eye and he realized his sliding glass door was ajar.

Stepping out into a rare chilly breeze for late August, Jesse had to squint to make out the figure sitting by his pool. Jesse’s patio light was off, but both bordering yards had ones on all night for their dogs so it wasn’t completely dark.

Mr. White had his bare feet in the water, tall bottle of something by his shoes, head back with a joint to his lips. It was weird as hell, but Jesse found himself with a hand pressed against his chest in relief. The guy seemed to be in pretty shitty shape, but he wasn’t here to kill Jesse and maybe the possibility of that scenario was starting to creep up along Jesse’s spine more and more every day.

Shit, Jesse almost felt nostalgic watching Mr. White smoke some of his weed again. He was taking pretty long tokes, coughing here or there but like holding his own like he’d totally smoked a couple of bowls in college. At the same time, Jesse couldn’t get over just how much more fucked up everything had gotten since the last time he saw this.

His pool was a fucking wreck too: beer cans, pizza boxes, and other people’s clothes floating around like Jesse was setting up a pretty gross version of bobbing for apples. This was his last project for his house after getting sober. He just hadn’t gotten around to it yet; too much other shit and people on his mind. And by people, well, it was usually this prick right in front of him.

“Hey,” Jesse said.

Mr. White turned his head, looking like absolutely dead. His eyes were just kind of empty behind his glasses. He seemed to glance at the joint between his fingers and dropped it into the bottle where it went out with a small hiss.

Jesse scratched at the back of his neck. “Yo, that was from an old stash, I swear. Didn’t even remember I still had shit saved in the kitchen, but like I haven’t touched anything in a while. I’m still clean.”

“I know,” Mr. White said. He held up the bottle, took a shallow sip that made Jesse wince. “I found this duct-taped to the back of a box of stale Cheez-Its buried in a cabinet full of chicken-flavored Ramen and—” he took another swig—“I would have taken you for more of a beef guy.”

He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or not, situation way too weird, but he for sure could smell the synthetic sweet stink of 99 Apples. Badger had brought that shit over at a party as something to get chicks drunk real fast, but they’d forgotten about it. The seal hadn’t even been broken and it looked about half-empty now. There was no way Mr. White wasn’t shitfaced.

“Yo, that stuff’s like 99 proof. You’re gonna get sick if you keep drinking that shit. And you know, I ain’t like liable for the germs floating around in there, man. Are you not cold?” Jesse crossed his arms across his chest at another chilly gust, debris swaying back and forth in the water like it was stuck in some Jell-O mold.

Mr. White shrugged. “Illness would be the least of my problems, ironically enough.”

He picked up his shoe and seemed to really study it.

“My brother-in-law is on to Fring. I don’t know what more I can do to delay the inevitable,” Mr. White said. He hesitated then slowly let his shoe drop from his hand into the pool. “Speaking of inevitable….”

Mr. White held up his other shoe and flung it with a wide swing like he was on a bike delivering papers. It actually skimmed across the surface twice before sinking. The guy was breathing kind of weird, but it wasn’t until he sniffed that Jesse figured out Mr. White was crying. Not a lot, like the crickets and the rhythmic _chink_ , _chink_ , _chink_ of somebody’s sprinklers were louder than him. Still, Jesse didn’t know how to feel about it.

“He’s going to kill us, Jesse,” Mr. White said, voice a little higher like he was trying to reign himself in.

He grabbed the bottle of 99 Apples and hoisted it above his head like he was planning on shattering it right next to him. And if Jesse knew anything about logic when you’re baked and drunk, then that seemed like a likely possibility.

Jesse had seen too many people have to get stiches for stupid shit like this, and with only that in mind, he shot his hand out for the bottle. Mr. White moved it to his other side so Jesse reached out further, lost his balance and landed awkwardly on top of the dude’s knees.

It was sort of a slow motion drop in Jesse’s head but it was still embarrassing, felt like it scraped his shins even through his jeans, and he snatched the bottle triumphantly from Mr. White’s now slack hold to chuck it back over his shoulder.

It made sort of a plop sound and then Jesse was like _all_ too aware of Mr. White sniffing again. He took a cautious glance up and almost startled at how close he was to the dude. His face was red, frowning, seeming like he was putting his all into keeping it together.

Jesse felt exposed as fuck leaning sideways kind of _in_ Mr. White’s lap. But there was that saying about like desperate times, and it was like some weird instinct took over Jesse’s motor functions or whatever.

He clapped the guy on the back, got just a little closer, and lightly patted at a neutral, midway point along the dude’s spine. This way a by-the-books, one-armed bro-hug, well, expect for the whole lap thing. But then Jesse felt himself yanked forward, fists clenching around the back of his t-shirt, warm face at the crown of his head and Mr. White was _sobbing._

Jesse could feel it like shaking him, and he tentatively held the guy. He circled his hand in what he hoped to be like a soothing way between his shoulder blades. Jesse just let the guy fucking cry it out.

When he started to calm down, the pulses against Jesse’s chest felt like an overturned carton of milk hiccupping out its insides, and he shut his eyes ‘cause it was sort of nice not concentrating on the usual shit show going on in his head for once.

His hand was rubbing sort of wider, easier circles.

Mr. White was breathing against Jesse’s scalp. “You smell like—”

“An ashtray?”

“—like Jesse.”

He snorted. “You saying I always smell like an ashtray, Mr. White?”

He could hear Mr. White take a whiff and shake his head, chin propped sort of on him, arms still around Jesse’s lower back.

“It’s not just cigarettes; something sweet too and maybe…a little oak or musk.” He was mumbling. “I’m not complaining. It’s not…unpleasant. It actually…well, it’s started to smell more familiar than my own...wife… _ex_ -wife, I guess.”

Everything got really silent, nothing but Jesse’s heart kicking a beat or so faster than Mr. White’s. And it was hard trying to chalk up what the guy said to the pot and booze when Jesse risked taking a look up at him.

He was staring right back.

And the whole fucking world felt like it was under water, his ears clogged with his own pulse, when Mr. White leaned down and kissed him.

It lasted barely a second before Mr. White pulled back with a twisted-up, like regretful expression, shaking his head slowly, hands starting to slip from their grip on Jesse’s shirt.

“I…I don’t…didn’t…son, I’m….”

Watching Mr. White like this fucking hurt too much, like an actual physical pain in Jesse’s body. All those thoughts about Fring and Mexico and the ricin were coming back again and Jesse just wanted everything to shut the _fuck_ up. And if Mr. White needed this, if this is was like the glue that would keep their fucking brittle, shaky partnership together before it splintered like a thin sheet of glass under Fring’s heel, then maybe Jesse was okay with it.

Carefully cupping both sides of Mr. White’s face, Jesse kissed him back. It was slow, small, awkward pecks at first as Jesse got used to the weird feel of facial hair against him. Jesse had kissed some fucking rough-looking chicks before, knew how his body felt totally repulsed even through the drug high, and it was a little more than upsetting not getting that same like sensation now, which he’d totally expected.

 _Oh shit_ , _no_ , this was actually sort of nice. Mr. White’s lips parted in a way that manipulated Jesse’s open, and he instinctively shut his eyes. Their mouths were working together now, synced up like every fucking thing they ever did, moving a little slick against each other. He didn’t know how, but it was almost just a natural progression for Jesse to lick his way inside Mr. White’s mouth. And Jesse felt something warm pool up in his gut when the guy’s tongue softly rolled against his.

Mr. White groaned.  

Jesse got another quiver thing deeper down in his stomach, _way_ lower, and he felt kind of like some dumbass freshman like belatedly putting two and two together: Jesse was getting a fucking erection. It was building up in his jeans, and it was totally humiliating ‘cause this was Mr. White. He was starting to feel like he was in high school again, fooling around with some chick in the back of her car. So maybe in some fucked up way it made since that Jesse’s body seemed to want to use maybe just a little more tongue than like necessary. Mr. White didn’t seem to mind, pushing back with his own, both of them moving at a pretty laid-back pace. Just for like variety or morbid curiosity or whatever, Jesse gently sucked on the tip of the guy’s tongue. And having something of Mr. White’s between his lips shouldn’t have made Jesse’s cock drip, but it did.

Jesse kissed the corner of the guy’s mouth before going back at it, resisting the urge to squirm from the pressure straining up against the fly of his jeans. Mr. White bucked into him and Jesse felt something real hard jab him on the back of the leg. Jesse jerked back into Mr. White without fucking thinking.

He felt another thud just below his ass and not wanting to grind into it again—‘cause _come on,_ he was better than that—Jesse tried to fucking like extract himself from this whole situation. He made to stand up before remembering he was laid out sideways, so shifting back seemed like a solid choice until that terrifying-as-shit falling sensation jacked up his adrenaline and it was fucking survival mode now. Jesse reached out for Mr. White who was still holding on to him, and then Jesse was for real plummeting backwards, expecting cement, getting slapped with a wall of freezing-cold water instead.

Jesse was under in seconds. He couldn’t breath. Mr. White was on top of him. He struggled out and up to the surface, but there still wasn’t enough air. Something was covering Jesse’s face. He tore at it until he was holding a pair of fucking rank boxers that may have had blood on them. Flinging it away, Jesse tried to calm his fucking lungs down and tread water.

He hadn’t cleaned his pool in a real long time, even before the parties, and Jesse could feel his legs were getting coated in dirt and a couple of slimy leaves were sticking to his shoulders.

Just when he thought he couldn’t feel any grosser, Jesse heard the like un-fucking-mistakable sounds of somebody puking. Wanting to swim away, Jesse fought it enough to look where Mr. White was getting sick with his forearms braced on the lip of the pool, heaving violently, and at least none of it was in here.

Gagging, Jesse reluctantly waded over to Mr. White, and once he was close enough, Jesse covered his nose with one hand and rubbed the dude’s back with the other.

Yeah, it was fucking disgusting, but Jesse wasn’t going to just bail on the guy. Plus, Jesse knew the only thing that made throwing up when you’re hammered better was having someone watching out for you, sticking around, and making sure you didn’t die. Jesse always seemed to be alone when he got sick, and being by yourself was the worst of it. Like, it made you feel all the more pathetic. Jesse wasn’t going to do that to Mr. White.

“It’s okay, man. I gotch you,” Jesse said, kind of under his breath.

He stuck it out for what felt like a whole fifteen minutes until Mr. White seemed to finally fucking empty out.

The guy tried to stand up right away, weaving, and Jesse grabbed his arm to steady him and kind of ushered him over to the steps. He let Mr. White go on ahead of him, following along until they were two losers fully dressed in soaked clothes on the coldest fucking night to like ever exist in August.

With a light hand on Mr. White’s back—even though this was how all this shit started in the first place—Jesse guided him to his opened sliding glass door.

Jesse tugged off his waterlogged shoes and socks and tossed Mr. White a kind of exhausted glance.

“Yo, try not to touch anything.”

\---

Mr. White wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, giving Jesse a questioning look as he dangled Jesse’s tooth brush over the trashcan and Jesse nodded. He let it drop and closed the cabinet under the sink.

Jesse wasn’t sure why watching Mr. White brush his teeth didn’t feel all kinds of bizarre, that it was sort of comforting like the beginning of a fucking sleepover, though it would have been a little better if Jesse weren’t wearing dirty-ass clothes sticking to him as tightly as the grime on his arms and legs.

“Thank you,” Mr. White said.

His blue button-up and khakis were real wrinkled, lips actually a little blue too from the cold, and Jesse had told him he could grab a shower if he wanted. Stepping in the tub, Mr. White pulled the yellow, rubber shower curtain shut behind him. And Jesse wasn’t sure what was up with him getting in fully dressed, but there was no way he was staying in the shit he was wearing any longer.

He tugged his shirt over his head, fabric heavy, and dropped it on the bathmat just a second before Mr. White’s was there. A white undershirt was added and a pair of slacks, and yeah, Mr. White was getting undressed like some chick in after-midnight Cinemax flick, like peeling back one layer at a time behind some mysterious veil. All the dude needed was one leg like alluringly peeking out.

Jesse quietly snickered as he yanked off his soggy jeans and boxers, tighty-whities joining the pile before Mr. White turned on the water. He pulled the shower curtain back about a foot before it was jerked closed again.

“What are you doing?”

Mr. White sounded honestly fucking nervous, and Jesse rolled his eyes even though the dude couldn’t see him.

“Yo, I’m fucking covered in dirt.”

“Then wait until I’m done,” Mr. White said, more panicked than offended or annoyed.

“I’m not gonna wait around for this shit to soak into my fucking pores so I can get like a hepatitis infection from whatever tweeker left their bloody boxers in my pool. We’re just taking a shower. You know, like locker room shit. Anyway, it’s my fucking bathroom.”

The yellow plastic gave like the guy had let go, so Jesse pulled it back again and stepped in to get like a full-body profile of Mr. White rubbing Jesse’s blue AXE bar soap across his chest.

“Yo, relax, you don’t gotta suck in your stomach,” Jesse said, chuckling a little, maybe distracting himself on purpose. “I’ve seen you in your underwear before, man. No judgement, Mr. White.”

He gave Jesse like a pissy kind of look, but he seemed to breath out, gut coming out some too. And while Jesse didn’t want to like dwell on it or anything, it was like _hella_ different seeing Mr. White with just that one last piece of clothing off. _Fuck_ , they were both naked.

Jesse was pretty sure it was just like basic human shit to want to look at another guy’s dick. Like, if it was out in the open or whatever, you’d have to be weird _not_ to take a peek. So Jesse wiped some of the grit from his arms, getting more of a misting of water than a direct spray, and kind of glanced between Mr. White’s legs.

He looked away after about two seconds.

So it was bigger than he’d thought it would be. It wasn’t like he’d really put a whole lot of energy thinking about Mr. White’s dick, but the guy had one fragile as fuck ego, and he’d always heard jokes about those types having tiny pricks. But, nah, the guy was longer and bigger around than Jesse. It was a weird-ass consideration, but having their cocks out seemed to emphasize their height difference. ‘Cause if Mr. White pushed him back-first into the wall, the dude’s dick would be more at his ribs than crotch-level.  

Grabbing his shampoo, shivering ‘cause steam was about the warmest thing reaching him, Jesse wondered if Mr. White wanted to kiss him again. His cock actually twitched and he glanced up like he’d tripped and wanted to make sure nobody saw. And the coast was so totally not clear ‘cause Mr. White was staring right at Jesse’s junk, and that son of a bitch appendage-shit started hardening. Of course it felt good. But like _come on_ , place and time, Jesse Jr.

And if shit wasn’t weird enough, they made fucking eye contact. Mr. White wasn’t wearing his glasses and he didn’t look so pale anymore, way more focused too, like puking had sobered him up. That made it just all the more bizarre watching Mr. White glance away to then flicker his gaze up and down Jesse’s body. It was super quick, kind of a side-eye thing, but Jesse totally saw it.

Jesse decided to finally uncap his shampoo. He poured out just a little, having a buzz cut and all, and extended it over to Mr. White who was reaching the bar of soap back to clean his shoulders. Mr. White looked very unamused and it took a few seconds for Jesse to understand why.

“Oh, right,” Jesse said. “You’re…bald.”

Mr. White snorted and shifted the bar of soap to his side. “He’s observant.”

“Yeah, observant enough to know I’m getting like totally shafted right now.”

Jesse’s hands were already in the short bristles of his hair, and he kind of wanted to pull two huge-ass clumps out ‘cause no way did Jesse just say “shafted” in a shower with another dude, when—Jesse discreetly checked— _yep_ , both of them were sort of stiff. Shampooing a little angrily, Jesse grunted out of frustration before he realized that wasn’t making anything better. Now he was in a ‘90s Herbal Essences commercial; _great_.

“Yo, I’m cold and still hella dirty. Move your ass and stop hogging the water.”

Mr. White raised an eyebrow with an exaggerated sour expression. “Well since you asked so politely.”

He backed up anyway, their arms dragging slick against each other as Jesse walked forward and rinsed his hair. Getting right underneath the downpour felt awesome, warm, and when it seemed like all the shampoo was out, he tilted back so he could wipe his face.

Jesse bumped into Mr. White: chest on his back, something slippery on his ribs, most definitely a dick against his lower back.

He didn’t even have enough time to react more than open his eyes before the slippery thing was placed in his right hand.

“Just giving you the soap,” Mr. White said. “You being hella dirty and all.”

Jesse actually snickered, moved back a little more so he could like breath and see and shit. But, oh right, that stuck him up closer to Mr. White.

He swore he felt the guy’s dick real-time, right now get rigid against his skin, and it was _so_ fucking weird. Like, Jesse had seen dudes with hard-ons in porn, even watched chicks get them there, but it was like the difference of watching a Discovery Channel thing on butterflies coming out of their cocoons and then that shit actually _happening_ in your hand.

A warm bead of water slid down Jesse’s back from the hard yet soft fleshiness pressed against him, and Jesse knew that shit wasn’t water.

Jesse heard and felt Mr. White back off and he almost missed the added heat. It was almost like sitting on a swing and suddenly no one was pushing anymore. He started lathering away the filth anyway.

“It’s been…a while since I’ve showered with someone,” Mr. White said.

Arms covered in suds, Jesse let the bar trail up to his neck before dipping down to his shoulders.

“Same,” he said.

“Really?” Mr. White’s foot squeaked against the bottom of the tub. “I just assumed…with so many people…girls…over here and…the drugs that….”

“Nah,” Jesse said. He gave his back a few lazy swipes before moving the soap to his chest, angling to the side so the bubbles weren’t getting washed away before he had a chance to actually clean himself. “Being on crystal, it’s like…it’s like you’re a nine-year-old with parents who are like never home, without a bedtime over summer break: nobody’s brushing their teeth, bathing, sleeping, and pretty much everything you eat is either pizza or maybe Pop-Tarts or like cereal. It’s like after a while, you get used to feeling dirty all the time. Then it’s normal.”

“Huh,” Mr. White said.

His voice sounded sort of funny, lower and strained, but maybe he hadn’t expected such an honest answer. _Shit_ , Jesse had given him more details than he usually shared at his meetings.

Thinking about how he should probably go to one of those tomorrow, he started washing his legs, hunched over to reach his calves and he realized where his ass was as he was eying the tops of his feet. Springing up too fast would look suspicious, like Jesse was doing this bending shit on purpose, so he made it a gradual thing, blood rushing to his head as he finally got upright again.

He was even sort of wobbly, and his peeping got away from him. And it looked like Mr. White had a blood rush going in the opposite direction, like _south-_ south pole. The guy had a raging-hard boner.

Jesse just innocently tried to look busy with the soap on his chest, except he was totally touching his own nipples accidentally. Was Mr. White getting off watching Jesse rub soap on his nipples? Were they hard too? He guessed he couldn’t get too pissed at them since it seemed like they were just trying to match his fucking cock.

He and Mr. White were both sporting hard-ons and Jesse was getting a whole new image for the phrase “red rocket” like burned into his brain forever.

Frantically trying to do something, _anything_ to make this less awkward, he considered just swallowing the bar of soap whole when Mr. White took a short step closer. The guy reached his hand out. Jesse was sort of fucking terrified. _But_ , that small, like hurt, wounded, broken almost subconscious little boy voice he tried to ignore whenever Mr. White was around was just _screaming_ out “ _Please, touch me”_ just as it got what it wanted.

Jesse made this ridiculous, scared mewling sound shit.

And Mr. White wasn’t jerking him off, not even holding him really, just brushing his fingertips along the top of Jesse’s shaft.

“ _Huh_ ,” Mr. White said again. The word sounded huskier than ever, grittier than the dirt from Jesse’s pool. “ _Pink_ man.”

Mr. White ran his thumb down the underside and Jesse fucking quivered, warm water still all around him, face probably the same shade of pink as his swollen prick. He needed a diversion.

“ _Mr. White_.” He didn’t at all mean to moan that out, just wanted his attention, which he had now. The guy was looking at him, eyes kind of dark in a hot way, touch both feather-light and clammy on Jesse’s cock. “Yo, I got to tell you something, but you’re…gonna…be mad.”

“I won’t be mad,” he said, sounding _way_ too calm and understanding for Walter _fucking_ White.

Jesse sucked air in through his teeth when Mr. White’s pinky circled the ridge around the head. He was just going to get all of this out at once.

“I was at Fring’s house. Like, I had dinner over there. It didn’t even taste that good. I mean if you’re into fancy soups and shit, maybe it was alright. But like if I wanted to fill up on fucking soup then just heat me up some Campbell’s chicken noodle, you know? Like, _fuck_ cutting shit up forever. Anyway, I was gonna put the ricin in something. I swear to god, I like stood by that fucking pot of stew for like five minutes. But then I’d be like poisoning myself, and I ain’t in a Shakespeare play or whatever. And I thought about slipping it into his wine, but he never left the glass. Yo, I’m really sorry, Mr. White, but I couldn’t do it. I never got an opening. I—”

“How long were you there?”

Mr. White’s voice was deep, but in a different way now. He wasn’t touching Jesse.

“Jesse, how _long_ were you _there_?

He winced. “I don’t know, maybe like two hours or so.”

“Two _hours_?”

The shout seemed like it was amplified in the shower.

“You were inside Gustavo Fring’s house, sharing and if I’m hearing you correctly, _preparing_ , a meal with this man, and you _couldn’t_ find _some_ way to sprinkle a practically _untraceable, undetectable, miniscule_ amount of powder in literally _anything_ edible?” Mr. White shook his head, gritting his teeth behind his lips sealed together tight. “Is this not serious for you Jesse? Fring could kill me and my entire family, my daughter for god’s sake. Does our partnership, do _I_ mean _nothing_ to you?”

A flare of rage pushed Jesse forward.

“Do you mean _nothing_ to me? Mr. White,” Jesse said. He was fucking yelling too now ‘cause no way was this asshole getting away with this shit. “Were you not outside tonight? Did I not watch out for your drunk ass? Did I not invite you into my fucking house? Yo, I…killed a guy for you. And tonight….”

Jesse had to stop ‘cause his eyes were watering and he didn’t want the guy seeing him cry, not right now.

“Tonight I told that psycho I couldn’t cook without you even though he sure as shit seems like he wants me to, like he’s handing me the whole fucking empire. I could be making all the cheddar from here on out, let him _off_ your old ass. He’s sending me to Mexico… _fucking_ … _Mexico_ , man. So, I can teach a bunch of Mexican scientists how to cook _our_ product. Fring doesn’t even want you around anymore. But, I told him that he’d have to fucking kill _me_ if he killed you. ‘Cause I _do_ care about you, Mr. White. You mean more to be than….”

 _Fuck_ , Jesse couldn’t do it. He was crying. Things were starting to blur up with the steam, hot water, and now the shit coming out of Jesse’s eyes, but Mr. White seemed to be angrily tearing up too.

Yanking open the shower curtain, the guy was gone with a gust of cold air, leaving a sickening empty feeling inside Jesse. And no one was gonna like upstage him storming out in Jesse’s own fucking house. So, he fucking followed the guy.

Grabbing a towel on the way out, he found Mr. White sitting on the foot of the bed, smearing a hand across his face, naked and getting Jesse’s blanket pretty wet. He wasn’t sure if the guy was still a little drunk of if he’d said something to make Mr. White emotional, but Jesse was sort of all cried out for the night.

Mr. White rubbed at his mouth and stared at the carpet. “Did he say how long you’d be in Mexico?”

Jesse wrapped the towel around his waist. “I have no idea. _Shit_ , he could be sending me there for a week, a year, or just have me fucking shot in the head once we cross the border.”

“Don’t,” Mr. White said. He coughed, voice wobbling like it had out by the pool. “Don’t go to Mexico, Jesse. It’s a death sentence. I can’t imagine what I would do…if you…if he….”

He shook his head, muffling a kind of stiff sob in his hand that didn’t go anywhere beyond some more kind of misty-eyed stuff. Though the guy _was_ shivering pretty bad, and Jesse just then felt the air-conditioning too. He’d wasn’t expecting this kind of cold snap in the weather since it had been so fucking hot recently, but now it was freezing in here.

Jesse untucked the towel from around himself and draped it over Mr. White’s shoulders as he sat down next to him, dabbing away water and trying to keep him from getting sick or whatever since Jesse had no idea how the dude’s immune system was doing these days.

Mr. White was kind of mellowing out though and maybe Jesse sort of massaging his back through the towel had something to do with that. He eyed Jesse a little off.

“You know, back in the…when you said you had something to tell me, well, I thought it was going in a different direction.”

Jesse squinted. “Like, how so?”

Mr. White seemed to roll his eyes, but at himself, and Jesse wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen the guy do that before.

“It was foolish really. It’s just,” Mr. White said. He raised his eyebrows slightly as if wording this the way he wanted was really taking it out of him and he was gazing off across the room to Jesse’s T.V. “I know that you know I’ve done a great deal for my family. And now they…can’t stand me. We’re hardly speaking. You’ve…stuck with me. I know I don’t ever say it, but that means something. You…mean something…to me.”

“Yeah,” Jesse said. He smiled, maybe a little sad and sort of grabbed the back of the guy’s hand. “Yo, I’m …with you, Mr. White…fucking prick.”

The corner of Mr. White’s mouth titled up and it almost didn’t feel weird at all when he dipped down, cupped the top of Jesse’s shoulder, and kissed him. It was like they fell right back into the groove they had before, mouths opening up quicker this time, tongues coming back almost eager to touch. Everything was still fucking soft and slow and good. Jesse’s hard-on hadn’t actually ever completely fucking given up and it was pulsing between his thighs again.

Jesse felt like he was warming up from the inside, and he hoped this was making Mr. White feel better. It wasn’t like Jesse wasn’t leaching off of whatever was going on too, ‘cause he was.

Mr. White’s hand was moving out from beneath Jesse’s, palming his knuckles, lowering both of their hands to wrap Jesse’s fingers around his own cock. He gently guided them up and down, adding pressure so Jesse would grip himself tighter, and he moaned when he felt Mr. White thumb his slit. Jesse was starting to get used to—like getting fucking _hooked_ on—the feeling of two hands jacking him off when Mr. White took his back. Then the guy stopped kissing him, but it was only to sort of hang his head, breathing on the side of Jesse’s face.

Still jerking himself, Jesse kissed anything he could reach and looked down to see Mr. White was getting the job done on his own too.

Something wasn’t right about that. It was like they were barely in the same room, like Jesse was already in fucking Mexico. They were better than this shit.

Jesse pushed Mr. White down by his shoulders, rough, climbing on top with enough enthusiasm for the guy to scramble back up against the blankets like he was a little freaked. Just as Mr. White was scooting one way, Jesse was going the other until he had an arm braced on either side of the dude’s hips, just fucking _grabbing_ Mr. White by the hilt, shutting his eyes before the close-up view wigged him out too much, and took a small lick at the head.

“ _Jesse_?” Mr. White moaned, sounding overwhelmed and confused all at once.

And maybe Jesse felt the same way, ‘cause even though he’d never done anything like this before, the same heady, dizzy shit he got while thrusting down into a chick was taking over now. It was making him suckle around the tip of Mr. White’s dick, glide his tongue down the shaft, even hollow his cheeks out and hum a little. He’d sort of always thought in the back of his head that he’d be in this position at some point with Mr. White. He just wasn’t sure of the like particulars. But it was nice feeling in charge for once, having the guy literally by the balls, responsible for every grunt and groan coming out of Mr. White’s mouth.

It wasn’t like Jesse thought he was really all that good at this. His hands were doing most of the work. Sliding over the guy’s cock in opposite directions since Jesse liked doing it to himself. His mouth was suctioned like exclusively over the tip. But Jesse hoped he was making up for it with the way his tongue was lapping heavy against the slit.

He was rewarded with another drop of pre-come when he felt Mr. White’s hand on the back of his head. Mr. White wasn’t petting him or forcing him down or nothing. Jesse let his eyes open and saw the guy just admiring the shit out him.

Jesse felt himself trickle out thick from his cock, humping into empty air, pulling the guy tighter between his lips ‘cause it felt awesome.

The guy’s fingers trailed down to the back of Jesse’s neck, thumbed the base of his jaw affectionately, Mr. White’s mouth gaping wide as he moaned, “ _Jesse_.”

And Jesse was ready for the long spurt in his mouth, drinking it in, taste not even that bad, feeling like he was draining the guy in the best way possible.

He was still slurping up his hard work, his own cock throbbing for attention, when Mr. White grabbed him by the hair and pulled him off. Jesse let out a startled sound of pain before there was another sharp sting across his scalp and he was yanked down and getting kissed. Their lips were fucking sloppy and frantic. It felt like the guy was licking his own come from Jesse’s mouth. And that was the last straw.

Jesse wasn’t holding back anymore. He’d been hard too long; fuck it.

Rolling his hips, his dick was looking for _anything_ to rub up against. Jesse groaned into Mr. White’s mouth when he felt the guy’s sticky prick slide against him. He rutted into it again, pulsating and shit, wanted to do it a third time and sort of lost his balance as he fell between the guy’s knees.

Panting, he felt Mr. White try to pull him in with a huge hand just below Jesse’s tail bone, fingers hot and splaying out lower. And getting touched there made his hips shoot up like fucking involuntarily. His position was lower, cock accidentally bypassing where Jesse was aiming, instead diving into this sudden, soft pocket of warmth behind Mr. White’s balls, totally enveloping Jesse.

“ _Shit_ , _Mr. White_ ,” Jesse groaned, eyes clamping shut on their own.

His dick had slid right in the crease of Mr. White’s ass. It felt so fucking wrong, but in a way that made Jesse leak as he dragged back and then forward, back and forward, back and—

“ _Jesse_!” Walt said. His tone was a mix of want and warning.

Maybe he was trying to get Jesse to stop, but there was no way in hell that was happening.

He held the guy down by the chest with a desperate thrust, snug slickness gliding like a fucking dream, and it was like his orgasm almost fucking ruptured out of him. He felt it tingle up his spine, across his balls, along every vein in his cock. He was coming almost _inside_ of Mr. White, trembling and jerking like he was tweeking-out. It kept going too, pumping out of him until he collapsed against the bed.

The sheets weren’t as damp here and it felt nice, pillow pretty close to his face, Mr. White breathing heavy by his side.

“ _Little punk_ ,” Mr. White gasped. The mattress jostled underneath Jesse a little and he felt the towel brush against his arm as the bed moved some more like Mr. White was cleaning himself. He felt it shift a lot, Mr. White fucking _leaving_. But then the light shut off and the dude was back. “You had me worried there for a minute.”

Jesse couldn’t help smirking as he propped his chin on his forearm. The glow from the street was bright enough through the blinds for them to see each other. “Thought I was gonna take advantage of you, Mr. White?”

He rolled his eyes, snatched Jesse’s pillow, and turned over on his stomach to tuck it under his head. And Jesse lifted himself by his hands to move over enough to land softly onto Mr. White’s back.

“ _Hey_ ,” Mr. White said, jolting. “Now…Jesse, I don’t know what you think you’re….”

“Yo, chill out,” he said. He rubbed the back of Mr. White arm. “I’m twenty five, not Superman.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t think I’ve read the issue where Superman fucks people from behind. What connection exactly are you trying to make here?”

Jesse chuckled, stretched out more, loving how the guy was big enough to rest on top of like Mr. White was a warm, breathing hammock.

“I meant like I’m not hard right now, gonna need like at least ten minutes. So, you know, your ass is safe. I’m just snuggling.”

“ _Oh_?”

The dude sounded smug as fuck, and suddenly Jesse felt like admitting what he just did was probably the most embarrassing thing he’d said all night.

“Asshole,” Jesse said, fondly.

Mr. White reached back and softly rubbed Jesse’s leg, and Jesse sort of melted at that, like Jesse was butter and Mr. White was the pancake. And Jesse snickered ‘cause he couldn’t remember thinking something so fucking corny in a long time. It felt sort of good.

“What?” Mr. White said.

“Nothing.” He kissed Mr. White’s back before resting his cheek there. “Just thinking about how dope pancakes would taste in the morning. I got some walnuts I can throw in if you’re into that; bacon too. You ever had bacon bits in your pancakes?”

Mr. White shook his head. “Sounds heavenly though.”

Jesse fumbled his hand around until he found his extra blanket and tugged it up to his shoulders. It covered his feet but not Mr. White’s, reaching just his ankles, and Jesse pushed it down until it went past the dude’s toes. Cold feet sucked.

Draping an arm over the guy’s side, Jesse kissed Mr. White’s shoulder blade again. “Goodnight, Mr. White.”

“Goodnight,” he said.

Jesse waited for the up and down of the guy’s back to slow, even out, heart-thud like lulling Jesse into liquid until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. And he was only semi-conscious of the way he gripped Mr. White tighter as he finally fell asleep.


End file.
